


My Pretty Weeper

by bunjamin



Category: I Don't Know How But They Found Me (Band), Panic! at the Disco, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Anxiety, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Depression, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Has Issues, Everyone Is Gay, Everyone Needs A Hug, Heavy Angst, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Murder, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Resurrection, Sad Josh Dun, Small Towns, Superpowers, Talking To Dead People, Unrequited Crush, i can't write sorry, what the hell is happening
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2019-11-12 00:47:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18000620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunjamin/pseuds/bunjamin
Summary: Josh loves every day, ever since him and Tyler decided to get their small amount of stuff, and move to a small town, away from anybody they'd ever known.Until it all goes to actual hell.





	1. together we fall

_“Dude, dude, check this one out.” Tyler's barely containing his fit of giggles as he prods Josh's shoulder. He turns to be greeted by the absolutely terrifying sight of the mask he had put on, a nauseating neon green. Behind the mouthless mask, Josh can basically hear the smile dripping from his voice, sweet as honey-nut Cheerios._

_“I think I'll start wearing these all the time. New year, new me, and all that.” he continues. He's curled up in their shopping cart, cradling a six-pack of Red Bull, and rocking a combination of the mask and a pink feather scarf._

_“Tyler, it's like… almost summer. New year, new me doesn't count as an excuse anymore.”_

_Everybody in this goddamn Target is staring at them, but they don't care. Ever since they moved to this town, they have become the most appreciated zoo exhibit, like they haven't seen foreigners in decades. The failed band that sometimes still sings, but usually makes out behind Target and drinks too much Red Bull._

_Josh brushes the mask up with a hand, the other one holding the handle of the cart, revealing Tyler's face, the smile there as he had predicted. “I'd miss your face.” Josh blurts out, and before he can get an answer, he huffs in a 'no homo, tho’ and the other loses his mind laughing._

_He laughs, too, but they both know he isn't joking. After he calms down, and rocks back and forth in the cart for a couple of quiet seconds, Tyler pushes the mask back on his face. Josh already misses it._

_“Seriously, bury me in these. Sickest funeral ever.”_

_“Puts the fun in funeral.”_

_“Hell yeah.”_

_Josh doesn't like how breezily his friend can talk about his death, and knowing his history, it makes him even more… afraid? Uncomfortable? Worried? A mixture of the three? Like Tyler isn't afraid, like he knows what comes afterwards, welcomes it. Sometimes the things he can say make him sounds a lot less human._

_But Tyler is Tyler. Just another guy. Just another adorable guy that somehow means the world to Josh._

_He pushes the cart away from the clothing racks that smell of sweat and fast food and they aren't even the second-hand ones. He's pretty sure there are thousands of diseases on those. Just the thought makes him want to scrub away at his hands with too much soap._

_“We need the pick up more soap. 'Cause you use all of it, and I don't even think I want to find out what you use it for.” Tyler yawns and hugs the Red Bulls tighter. He seems to be melting into his clothing. Looking incredibly soft._

_“Ty, it's called washing your hands, we've talked about this.”_

_“Don't sass me, Jishwa.”_

_Were it not for the old lady browsing detergent right next to them, Josh would've kissed the life out of him just for using that nickname. But the tension dispells and a bottle of soap is tossed in the cart, aimed at Tyler's shin. “Help, help, he's abusin-!” Tyler cries out before Josh covers his mouth with his hand (pulling it away when he realizes Tyler has begun to lick the inside of his palm) and they both break down laughing. ('You gross little shit.' 'Only for you.’) The old lady shuffles away murmuring something about God and sinners and when she's out of earshot Tyler does his best impression of her, talking about God, sinner, and how hard the crossword is on the daily newspaper. They continue laughing through buying cereal and frozen pizza._

_In the parking lot, Tyler gets up on his knees in the shopping cart and copies some scene from Titanic, spreading his arms to the sides and telling Josh 'he's flying’ (or some shit) , a movie they never watched, but he gets the idea. Josh shoves the cart forward so hard it tumbles down, and his friend jumps out like a scared cat._

_Maybe that was a bit extreme - he's scared Tyler got hurt, the way he struggles to walk, carrying the six-pack in his arms dramatically. But he's a damn good actor._

_“I saved the Red Bulls! But the rest… it didn't survive, Jishwa… we have nothing left in this world, but each other!” he calls out and Josh thinks it's a joke, but when he comes to look, crap, he's right, the bottle of soap is grazed open and spilling on the asphalt._

_It adds to the list of things they have spilled in this parking lot, which is impressive, for having been here a total of barely two weeks. “We should scram.”_

_“They'll never get us alive. The soap banditos.” Tyler gives him a solemn expression, face half turned towards the setting sun. It paints dramatic shades of orange on the curves of his cheeks._

_“That's the best you could come up with?”_

_“Thanks, you ruined the moment. I'll rat you out to the cops, soap boy, continue our reign of terror on my own.” he says and runs from the puddle of soap with his six-pack of Red Bulls with a maniacal giggle, charging towards Josh's car._

_Fast bastard. Josh fumbles for his keys, retrieves the box of frozen pizza that Tyler abandoned on the ground, and unlocks the doors ahead of time. Tyler jumps in the backseat and without missing the way he winks through the door he kept open, Josh joins him._

_They kiss for what must've been a couple of minutes, but definitely felt like hours. Judging by the sounds Tyler is making under him, he's more than ready to go further. Happy to oblige, he's almost halfway through taking his Target-bought t-shirt off when a car drives past them lazily, and finds it's parking spot right next to theirs._

_Because it's not like this entire lot isn't more than half empty. He groans and pushes himself back off of Tyler, who still seems feverish and unaware of the family spilling out of the car next to theirs. “Get a hold of yourself, Ty. I'm not about to fuck you in your mom's car. We're supposed to give it back intact, you know.”_

_“Fuck it. Fuck me. Destroy this goddamn car, Jishwa.” Tyler rasps, but he's calmed down a bit, rational thought washing over him. With a trace of reluctance, he lets  go of his death grip on Josh's forearms. “You owe me one.” he adds behind his back as Josh squeezes himself awkwardly into the front side of the car, saving himself the embarrassment of stepping out to make brief eye contact with any of the family members - with Tyler still laying flat on his back, face red and tank top riding halfway up his abdomen, from his careless grabbing and touching._

_A sight he can appreciate, only meant for himself. He doubts Tyler can even begin to picture just how good he looks like this. Well, he knows he's pretty, he just doesn't know how much more pretty he is to Josh._

_The other rights his appearance, giving Josh deliberate stares that set his cheeks on fire._

_A Red Bull fizzes open in the back seat, followed by a light curse and a feeble 'I'm okay, it didn't spill on the seat’. Josh adjusts the rear-view window as the car rumbles to life, catching a glimpse of his friend, splayed lazily on his back, a stain of something on his tank top. He's trying to drink from the can without lifting his head, earning himself a brief lecture from Josh, over just how dangerous that could be, and how he could choke. He returns to backing the car out of the space when Tyler retorts that he'd gladly choke (on his dick)._

_Silence falls in the car, not the awkward kind, but the warm, safe kind. Tyler hums a tune that Josh recognizes as a song he wrote a long while back, when they were still trying to get their garageband off the ground. “Jishwa? You know, I'm glad we moved here. Away from everybody we knew.”_

_“Dude.”_

_“Dude, what?”_

_“I'd move anywhere with you, dude.”_

_“This is the second time today you've ruined my moment of sincerity with your making fun of. I'm starting to think you don't love me.”_

_They fall quiet again, just as comfortable as the last one. The sky is painted pretty colors as the last rays of sun fade, and Josh wishes he could drip those shades into his hair. Right now it's a bright yellow - maybe he could shake things up soon. Maybe red? Red sounds nice - it'd go with the beanie Tyler always wears in winter, the one he's been wearing since they were both juniors._

_At a stop light, he takes a hand off the wheel and begins drumming his fingers softly on the dashboard. Drums are the only good thing in his past. Drums, and Tyler, and his crappy skateboard that he doesn't want to admit he falls off more than he would like. And now he took these three things with him and moved state, and he couldn't be happier with his decisions_

_“Sing something for me, Ty.”_

_There's a silence, and this one does feel a bit awkward. Josh bites his bottom lip and wonders if Tyler is actually mad at him for that stupid joke._

_“Okay.” his friend replies softly, and his voice melts his heart._

_He's so glad they moved here._

_Somewhere in town, two boys are singing in the car as the rain starts, one of them considerably more off-key than the other, and they both stink of Red Bull, and their smiles stink of unbridled happiness.  One of them forgets the lyrics and the other one teases him because come on, he wrote this song for him._

_Somewhere in town, a boy has just finished digging a grave, where tomorrow's dead will go into. Some old lady who just had a heart  attack in a Target parking lot. Another one joins him, ghastly and out of place in the darkness of the graveyard, wearing too much white, but flinches when the other touches his cheek. Rain washes over them, but neither of them feels cleansed._

_Somewhere in town, a boy is trying to (and failing) to advertise his totally legitimate ability to talk to spirits, as a pair of siblings mourns the loss of their grandmother. When he passes by the graveyard after his services are rejected, he feels sick and tired and he's suddenly more than glad to be staying home when he sees the boy in black and the boy in white sharing an umbrella. The rain and the sight of them ushers him to hurry home._

_Somewere in town, a boy feels like he's losing his mind again, because he's sure that there are more than one or two voices in his head, and they all want to tell him their story, until he almost decides to splits his head open to let them out. There are no quiet moments anymore, and the drumming of rain on the window of his room is enough to drive him insane._

_When he wakes up in the morning, his whole body aches. The mirror shows him all the love-bites and light scratches on his shoulders that he needs to see, but it's not as if he doesn't remember Tyler placing each and every one of them on him. He was nothing if not a horny bastard._

_His sweet, innocent, horny bastard._

_Their apartment is small, mainly because anything bigger would've meant that the rent would literally crush their spines. They still need to get proper jobs, not live of the money Tyler's mom loaned them. She loaned them a lot of things._

_On the kitchen counter, a scribbled note announces that his friend is out getting them cereal, because they forgot to pick up the damn box from the parking lot, chasing each other like lunatics. Or love birds. Maybe it's still lying there, in the soap. The idea of soapy cereal makes Josh gag, and reminds him just how dry his mouth is. He quenches his thirst with the last Red Bull, that was technically supposed to be Tyler's, but he doubts Tyler won't buy another six-pack from Target, since he's already there._

_Taking his damn time with those cereal._

_He's still in his underwear, binge-watching some show he's forgotten the name of, when the doorbell rings. He hurries into a t-shirt (Tyler's) and sweatpants, and opens the door._

_A policeman with sweaty hands and a bit of a speech impediment kindly informs him that_

_Joseph,_

_Tyler,_

_aged twenty-one,_

_has been pronounced_

_dead_

_upon arriving to the hospital._

_He tries to close the door in his face, to tell him to just go away, but the man claims he has more things he needs to tell him, that he understands his grief. But how could he? How could he even fathom the way his insides have lit themselves on fire, beginning for everything to disappear._

_He locks himself in the bathroom with the man’s fist still pounding on the door, the worried voice trying to reason with him,, and screams until his voice gives out, his throat raw, his own spit tasting like blood._

 

This is where the story truly begins.


	2. life's alright in devil town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Wha- um… I'm not sure I-” Josh is admittedly more than a little taken aback by the question. Instead, he conveys his confusion through vague movements of his hands. The other conveys his exasperation through a very strong sigh, interjected by a yawn.

To say that the next month of his life has been living hell would be an understatement. Before, everybody would noticed Tyler and him. Tyler and him, making out in the backseat of their car, Tyler and him, browsing shitty clothes in Target and laughing too loudly at each other's stupid jokes. But now it was just Josh, and the locals seemed just as inclined to give him the attention. 

Not in a kind, ‘I'm very sorry about what happened, here are some leftover brownies I baked because, honestly, you look like you need to put some healthy weight back on’. In a ‘I'm going to stare at you everywhere you go, thinking you wouldn't notice, especially when you go to the graveyard.’ 

So now every time he goes to Tyler's grave, goes to cry and curse the world for being such a fucking joke, he has an audience, like he's some actor, only playing a role. But he isn't acting, no, Tyler was the actor between the two of them.

Relatives of the dead have been in and out of town, in and out of his apartment, for the past few weeks - there was a hefty crowd of them to accompany Josh when they put Tyler in the ground (and maybe if there hadn't been, they'd have needed to put him in the ground as well, soon), but one by one, they filtered out, back to their lives. The only that stuck around for long had been Tyler's mom. In her grief she made so much food all the time, leaving it for Josh, who tried his best to eat it before inadvertently hurling it all in the toilet. He was losing weight and sleep rapidly, his hands shaking every waking moment.

“Did you take your pills, today, Joshua?” she asks him kindly as he finishes packing the last of her things into her car. Sometimes she seems to care about him more than Josh's mom. Of course, she might as well just be projecting her need to protect someone, and he was the available, vulnerable one. He’d insisted she takes the car back, not because he has no use for it. Josh just feels like he can't be in a car anymore without suffocating.

_A fucking hit and run. And they never got the bastard._

The car reminds him of Tyler, too.

He nods gruffly. His therapist said two a day. Screw him, the internet says he won't die if he takes three, he'll just feel more numb. More numb is what he's looking for. “Take care… You've got some, uh, leftover casserole in one of those.” he prods some plastic bags with his muddy sneaker.

“I thought you'd- Thank you.” she stares away and they stand in silence for a while. Josh knows the way to the graveyard by heart now, and he knows she's staring that way, but who could blame her? They both stare towards the same spot, until Tyler's mom gets in the car and she waves weakly through the window.

He watches her drive away without faking a smile. He's never been awfully religious, but he silently prays she makes it home safely. The sky is tauntingly bright above his head, and he hopes it shatters and that the shards impale his brain. Josh goes back inside when somebody rounds the corner and stars walking alongside the sidewalk by their shitty apartment complex.

In his apartment it's warm, and sun rays are pouring in through the windows. He turns on the air conditioning, making it as chilly as possible, and pulls the blinds over the windows. Back to normal, now that he could stop pretending for the sake of Tyler's mom. He didn't want her to have to suffer through his suffering.

He takes a cold shower and all day, he lies on the floor and cries. It's not enough to get him to freeze to death, but he's been taught all too brutally that life doesn't just work out so easily.

 

At about midnight, he wakes and fumbles around his pitch-black apartment to find out what was happening, before everything hit him, knocking him out of breath. To his credit, it only took him half an hour before he was (barely) functioning once more.

Without really thinking about it too hard, he grabs two Red Bulls from the fridge, then leaves one on the kitchen counter and feels nothing. Josh really, really tries to feel something, but there's nothing there in the hollow space his heart used to fill. Blame it on the pills.

At a sluggish pace, he moves around the apartment, bumping into furniture before his eyes adjust to the darkness. He couldn't care less about which neighbor heard him curse every time he hits his foot, it hurt. It takes him some time, but finally he's dressed completely, in one of Tyler's old t-shirts and a pair of sweatpants. He finishes the Red Bull and misses the trash can when he tries to throw it in.

Not really a suitable outfit for visiting the graveyard, or perhaps the most appropriate outfit for visiting a graveyard that he has. He isn't about to put on a suit at almost one in the morning, and wander around this town, even though he'd still do anything for Tyler. Maybe he just feels too useless at this point.

He realizes he's forgotten to lock the apartment by the time he's out of the complex, staring one either side of himself, at the streets illuminated by lights hanging from telegraph post to telegraph post. It looks almost magical, even though it makes him slightly sick.

The breeze is cool but not cold, so he doesn't mind it as it starts, rustling dust off the sidewalk. Everything is so quiet. So lonely. Sudden heartache overtakes him. It's fine - he's become a pro at overtaking it back. The moon hangs above him, round and pretty, accompanied by the stars only a small town boy gets to fall in love with.

Josh could walk to the graveyard with his eyes closed if he wanted to. He lets his feet lead him while he looks at the night sky and tries to recognize constellations Tyler and him would look for on summer nights like this one. They twinkle back at him, as old friends waving at each other. He waves back at the sky and flinches when the sound of a car engine approaches.

His heart is beating double speed just from that.

The car slows down, gliding smoothly next to him. It's hoodless - the driver, who looks like he'd kill for a good night's sleep, stares at him, a hand slung over the door, tapping at it expectantly.

“Seen a ghost?” he asks bitterly.

“Wha- um… I'm not sure I-” Josh is admittedly more than a little taken aback by the question. Instead, he conveys his confusion through vague movements of his hands. The other conveys his exasperation through a very strong sigh, interjected by a yawn.

He slings his head back, rolling out a stiffening in his shoulders. “Dude, bit taller than you, likes to wear a lot of white.” he restates, pinching the bridge of his nose with the air of someone who could be doing something a lot more pleasant right now. “He's not an actual ghost, I was joking, ya'know?”

Josh doesn't know what exactly to reply, so he takes it as rhetorical. After a moment of consideration, the other takes it as rhetorical as well.

“Haven't, no? Is he like… your friend?”  He tries to be as considerate as he can, with this complete stranger being such an asshole. But, whatever, maybe there's some serious things going on and his help could save this one's life. Maybe he should offer his help to search for…

Scratch that. The car speeds away without the driver giving him an answer, until it swerves away onto another street. Josh flips off the air where it used to be.

 

It's unsurprising that coming to Tyler's grave is still as daunting as it was the first time. _Look, in this patch of land is a box, and in that box is the corpse of your friend. Look at it. Would'ya look at it. Do you think he's comfy in there - oh, wait, he can't feel anything!_

His mind is such an asshole sometimes. He stops the internal monologue before it gets to it's  triumphant conclusion, but of course it still comes to him, as much as he tries to not let it. _He's dead!_

Josh thinks fleetingly that he should have gotten some flowers to leave here, but there are also no flower shops open at this hour, and if there were, some nosy florist would've known exactly where he was going. Part of the reason for which he chose to visit so late nowadays was to avoid the locals getting their noses into his business. Small town people sleep a lot (besides that weird guy with his car, and the other guy he was trying to track down, apparently).

Tears streak his cheeks without him even realizing, and when he notices he's crying, he really doesn't mind. It's almost the only time he feels like he can breathe, when his inside are turning themselves inside out with grief and he feels emptiest and purest, for a second.

 _“Why'd you have to get for that fucking box of cereal, huh? Why couldn't you just stay in bed with me, and we'd go to IHOP or some shit at midday?”_ he asks nobody. Somebody answers.

“Maybe he was really hungry?”

Josh turns around wildly, his eyes puffy and red, and the shakes overtake him again. The stranger is wearing a huge white something that reaches below his knees, so maybe it's meant to be a dress? And white, all too fancy shoes? He looks like he's landed in the wrong decade, or better, never really had a decade he belonged to.

“Oh, or maybe… maybe he didn't want to stay in bed with you! No offense, you're pretty cute. But you know, everybody can have regrets, sometimes, even if they don't feel like they should.”

Josh really doesn't know what he should say to him. He doesn't even sound like he's mocking him, simply weighing the situation. In their silence, the other plays with his brown hair, parting and re-parting his fringe, until he presses it all flat to his forehead. It casts a shadow over his hazelnut eyes.

“What… what the fuck do you want?” Josh asks, wiping at his eyes to make it less obvious that he's been crying copiously, but he doubts the other hasn't noticed.

“Noticed you were sad.” comes his simple reply, punctuated by an easy shrug. “Wanted to see what was up.”

Josh stares at him for a couple of seconds more, before he averts his gaze and stares at the gravestone. Tyler Joseph, beloved brother, son and friend. It was all he could think of when they asked him what to etch on it. His mind was too blank to come up with something better.

If he had died, Tyler would've written something a lot prettier for him. He's sure of that.

“How'd he die?”

“What's it to you?” Josh bites back defensively.

“A lot, actually.” the other says with a smile that looks too genuine and unconcerned. Like he hasn't seen death once in his life, but thinks his fascination for it somehow makes him more interesting. “I like to know the stories of these people, you know? The town means a lot to me.”

“He was from out of town.” Josh replies bluntly

“Ah, crap. Guess that card didn't work?”

They wait around in silence again. “If I tell you, will you piss off?” he asks, not taking his eyes off the gravestone.

“Cross my heart.” The other holds his index fingers in the shape of an X over his chest. On the wrong side for it to be over the heart.

Josh takes a deep breath, the fact that he has never really told somebody what happened out loud washing over him like a tidal wave. “Car hit him two weeks af-”

“That's enough, thanks.”

_What the fuck?_

He looks so goddamn unconcerned, and Josh could punch that look off his face for how stupid it makes him feel. “And you can call me Ryan, by the way.”

“We're not friends, and I won't be seeing you around, or calling you anything.“ he bristles back, a tad bit too aggressively perhaps, squeezing his fists shut to get a hold over himself and his increasingly thin temper.

The other is already starting for a pathway to take him out of the graveyard, presumably. Josh really hopes that's what he's going to do.

“It's a small town, Joshua Dun. Everybody knows each other's names.”

 

When Brendon finally finds his 'ghost boy’, it's six in the fucking morning, and there's sand in his sneakers as he treks over to him on the beach. He's laying in the sand, asleep.

There's a lot of sand in his hair.

“Ryan, what the fuck? You can't just run off like this, you know?” he calls out, kicking sand in his direction for good measure. Ryan pushes himself up and begins to rub at his eyes and to rub sand off of his face. Brendon tumbles down carelessly in the sand next to him. “I'm beat.”

He tries to reach a hand and touch the other's shoulder, but his touch is avoided, and he lets his hand fall on his own knee instead.

“I needed to see someone. You can't babysit me all the time, Bee.” Ryan replies calmly, staring at the horizon. Dawn had already happened, and they had both missed it. (Brendon was half asleep in his car, pulled up in some shady parking lot. Ryan was also asleep, dreaming about being the seaweed princess, who gave everybody weed that also tasted like sea water.)

Brendon nods vaguely before his expression becomes more firm. “Wait, seen someone? Who?”

“You know Dun?

“Dun? The fuck is he?”

“Joshua Dun?”

“Doesn't ring a bell.”

“Come on, Bee, his friend died. You dug his grave a month or so back. Big funeral, people from out of town showed up.”

“Riiiight, the failed band who makes out behind Target?”

“Made out. One of them died, remember.”

“Oh, crap."

Brendon closes his eyes and his face relaxes with incoming sleep.

“I think we should get that tall guy to help him, Bee.”

Brendon gets up mechanically and tips an inexistent hat to Ryan. “My good gentleman, I understand you have good intentions.” He begins, before making a beeline for the ocean lapping gently at the shore. “BUT I'D RATHER JUMP INTO THE SEA THAN TALK TO THAT FUCKER!”

Ryan doesn't even dignify it with a laugh when Brendon lets the waves swallow him. (He does crack up when Brendon yells in alarm and tells him he might've 'swallowed a lobster by accident’).

 

But the jokes mean nothing to the plan already in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> i have nothing better to do with my time apparently also can i get an f for my boy joshua over here


	3. a lot of nerve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ryan would probably find a polite, laid-back-dad way to handle them and get them to leave faster, which is one of the pros of Ryan in general. Teenagers like his hair, all cyan and cool. Dallon’s hair looks like he's been through a particularly bad storm while trying to hide the body of whoever he murdered last, which only adds to the unappealing aspect of this particular gas station - ‘we have three employees, but the one who's usually there will make you want to run!’

“I think you're being too harsh.”

“Hm?”

“With Tallon. Sorry, I mean Dallon.”

“Probably. But leave him out of this. I don't think he gives returning customer discounts.”

“That wasn't funny. Your sense of humour sucks.”

“Then find someone else.”

He didn't chase after him or make any outrageous love proclamations when Ryan walked away. In the end, they only had each other to go back to.

 

Day shifts suck.

But they don't usually suck this much - sure, it's warm outside, meaning it's freezing cold inside, and everybody who comes inside is going to be a sweaty mess, but he's used to that aspect, The real problem is that the other two guys he's supposed to be working here with are both not showing up, at least not until the night shift.

Dallon's been here since early morning, even though that was technically supposed to be Ryan's shift, but can you blame him for taking over? Poor guy's been barely out of his room, and he can see the lack of sleep gathering as darkness under his eyes.

If he hadn't been so stubborn, Dallon would've worked the entire day on his own, just to make sure he was resting. Or that at least he wasn't interacting with idiots - teenagers are gathering chips and cold sodas, rummaging around this 7-Eleven like it's goddamn heaven, and if they search hard enough and laugh loud enough (which to their credit, they seem to have managed, because Dallon would positively rather die than hear another hyena-giggle from one of the girls), they'd find God. Surely, he wasn't that insufferable when he was young.

Ryan would probably find a polite, laid-back-dad way to handle them and get them to leave faster, which is one of the pros of Ryan in general. Teenagers like his hair, all cyan and cool. Dallon’s hair looks like he's been through a particularly bad storm while trying to hide the body of whoever he murdered last, which only adds to the unappealing aspect of this particular gas station - ‘we have three employees, but the one who's usually there will make you want to run!’

Finally, they ambush him and check-out, which leaves him with a quaint and empty 7-Eleven, just to his liking. He peeks carefully through the transparent facade, and when he sees nobody, he hurries in the back to grab his jacket.

Bringing a jacket to work on a summer day has been one of the saddest points of his life. These ACs work well, too well, and when he tried to complain about the cold, they told him it creates a pleasant and cool environment for people to take a break from the torrid heat outside. Valid point, sure, whatever, but he's still freezing, and it's still mounted in the perfect spot to blow a dainty winter's blizzard over him.

The unmistakable sound of doors sliding open makes him hurry back into the store in time to catch sight of who had snuck in. The customer pauses right as the doors meet each other to close behind him, and gives Dallon a friendly smile, that he doesn't really return. After a minute of waiting, he still hasn't moved from the doorway, like he's purposefully trying to make Dallon uncomfortable and regretful of all of his life choices.

It's working.

“Are you just going to… stand there?” he asks, pausing in between words and hoping he sounds just intimidating enough to make the other budge. He does budge - he budges right to the counter, leaning both of his elbows on it and plopping his chin in his palms.

“Hey, tall man.” Ryan smiles. Not his Ryan. Brendon's Ryan. He finds it weird that they both have a Ryan, but there's a lot of weird things going on in this town, so two people named Ryan shouldn't matter that much.

This Ryan gives him the creeps.

He seems very intent on continuing to give him the creeps, staring up with large, innocent eyes, and Dallon can't help but picture them lifeless. As they should be. Crap.

“You know I can tell when you're uncomfortable.” the boy in too much white continues. “Then again, you're not making it super hard.”

“Buy something or leave.”

“You strike a hard bargain. Gimme some gum - no, not minty, I'm not an animal - I can't believe you'd forget my favorite flavour of gum.” Ryan beams up at him as he slides some change that Dallon has to spend a lot of time counting (who has so many nickels???) while the other crams three pieces of watermelon-flavoured gum into his mouth and chews through them. “Got those of Bee.” he explain when he can talk again, presumably.

“I don't care.” he replies through grit teeth. And he also hadn't forgotten Ryan’s favorite flavour of gum, simply decided to ignore that information.

“Thought you loved going through Bee's shit. Today he basically jumped into the sea for you, like, he still had his shoes on, which is pretty mad. Romantic, too, like, would you jump in the sea with your shoes on for somebody if you didn't truly love them?” not-cool-Ryan continues, and Dallon knows that by this point he’s trying to piss him off.

It's an understatement to say that the two of them don't talk very often, and that there's some unresolved issues there, even though the other should just keep his mouth shut and stay eternally grateful to him. Something about the delivery of each word with such a lack of malice puts him off.

He's done counting nickels and he just feels like and idiot.

“Aaaanyway, I have some very important business to handle, so-”

“So go and handle your business.” Dallon interrupts.

“The business is with you, idiot.” Ryan slams his palms on the counter and his head shoots up in a gesture of defiance, perhaps? Except it only takes Dallon a slight adjustment of his position to loom above him, quirking an eyebrow.

It's both amusing and offending that this one thinks he can just slam his hands on something and get what he wants. Brendon probably taught him that one

Ryan gains a bit of height and he can tell he's gotten up on his tiptoes just to get close enough to his ear. The feeling of somebody so close to his face is still very much uncomfortable, especially that someone being this one.

“Need you to do your thing.”

“What thing?”

“Don't play dumb with me.”

“What the fuck should I do then, I have no clue what you want from me.” Dallon whispers back a lie bigger than himself, and they both know it. He doesn't usually curse when he's being truthful. Ryan's back on his heels and blows a bubble of gum.  “Why do you think I'd even do that for a stranger?”

“Don’t you like doing nice things?”

“Nice things don't usually mess with the laws of nature. And you can't tell me this is in no way whatsoever part  of your agenda.” Dallon grunts and rights himself, stepping away from the counter.

“Agenda? I'm just trying to do a good thing - excuse me, trying to get you to do a good thing.” Ryan pouts. It makes him feel only the slightest bit bad, like being subtly nudged back into an emotional corner. He's about to snap back something a lot more harsh, when his phone begins to buzz inside his pocket. Messages, he decides, are a lot more important than this one.

_we have spirit wards around the house right???_

_Yes… I need to renew them, though. You wouldn't believe it, but they do have expiration dates. Full moon type-ish._

Dallon likes to write long, complete messages. Perhaps why some people simply think he has no interest in speaking to them - but he always likes speaking to cool-Ryan, as not-cool-Ryan is still peeking at him from behind his phone. Eventually, he saunters away and loses interest, disappearing somewhere further inside the store.

“You guys sell Cheez Whiz? I need to make up with someone.”

“This is a gas station. Try across the road.”

“Cool, bye.”

_renew them pls_

He's about to write back something along the lines of 'Why do you want that?’, when he deletes everything and rewrites:

_Is everything okay? Are you okay?_

_yeah i'm ok lol just wondering_

_Ah. I'll renew the barriers when you're at work, then._

_thanks ilu babe_

_jk_

_but thanks_

 

Ryan doesn't enjoy lying to his friend. But he can't really bring himself to tell Dallon that in fact nothing was okay, everything was a very special and unusual kind of not okay. Like when you make plans with someone, and then that day they suddenly stop answering all of your texts, and you’re confused, overreacting, and-

Maybe he should take deep breaths and stop focusing on hypothetical scenarios of his social incompetence as opposed to the very much current scenarios of whatever was going on in his head. An overflow of information is a mild way to put it. A very formal way to describe it, something Dallon might say. His head is blowing up.

Not at the one, big high school party he had ever been invited to had he ever heard so many voices. They take him by storm, unannounced and very much unwelcome, whenever they please.

Crashing from upstairs dispelles the squealing voices, the secrets, the confession and the laments that he didn't want to hear, but is forced to anyway. At least they are kind enough to allow him silence when he pushes himself up off the kitchen floor, pushing aside half-empty cereal boxes that had helped him cope with the past few hours.

A kitchen knife. Ryan doesn't want to pick up a kitchen knife to defend himself. He doesn’t want to threaten anyone, even if there’s some crazy murderer in the house right that second. A sing-song giggle echoe# in his head at this thought, and he whip# around to find its source, but is left without an answer. He grabs a spork, the “true weapon of mass destruction”, as Dallon likes to call it.

They only own a spork to make that joke. It feels like an ancient heirloom, even so.

On the tips of his toes, he shuffles into the hallway. As per the design of many old, very haunted houses, such as the one Dallon and him had settled on buying not a long time back (crazy cheap, because houses of former murderers, now placed half on the plot of land owned by the graveyard, were apparently not the most wanted), the hallway stretches one way to the door, and the other way to the staircase leading to the upper level, where all the bedrooms were.

More crashing from upstairs, followed by a voice. Ryan grips the spork tighter, his other hand fumbling for his cellphone. The first digit of the emergency number is already typed out when the intruder shows himself at the top of the staircase.

“For fuck's sake, Awsten.” he exhales.

Awsten grins. He'd forgotten to lock the window of his bedroom, which, placed right next to the beautiful, tall pecan tree next to the house, was more or less Awsten's special way in. Unafraid, of course, to almost break his back a couple of times, falling out of the tree.

“Come down, you scared the life out of me.”

“Oh, I'm sorry, you said come down?”

“Yeah, I did, what- No, no, no, no!”

He does come down the stairs. His body folds and cracks and rolls like an increasingly more broken toy the more stairs it hits, until he tumbles on the floor. The he gets up, pops his arms back into place with only a slight wince, and wipes some sweat off his forehead, ignoring the very visible crack across it.

“So what did you call me down here for, pal?”

Ryan searches for words to put the confusion and terror he feels each time Awsten does something like this in. He can't find them.

“Cereal for lunch?” he offers eventually.

“Sure!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't get attached im not gonna be consisntently back lmao
> 
> sometimes i read something really bad and it makes me want to write to prove to myself i can do better. also this has been sitting in my google docs for a month, half-finished

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
> :'(
> 
> poor joshie
> 
> will i ever stop coming up with ideas i never finish? we'll see


End file.
